


Rock Your Body, Yeah

by aimmyarrowshigh, spacesbetweenseconds



Category: Stereo Kicks (Band), X Factor (UK) RPF
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesbetweenseconds/pseuds/spacesbetweenseconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"James Graham loves toast... Tom Mann loves jam... and I love butter. Now that, for me, is a classic breakfast. - Barclay" [<a href="https://twitter.com/StereoKicks/status/527658140180176896">x</a>] AKA <i>Am I sexual? Yeahhhh.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Your Body, Yeah

**Author's Note:**

> #votestereokicks

James is trying--with little success--to fight the tiredness settling in his bones as he and the others stake out a booth. It's been a busy day. He can't wait to sit down so he can throw back a few drinks and _relax_.

There was nothing short of an X Factor party bus going to the party with Mel, but the band decided to go off to Mahiki by themselves. And, as much as he hates to have band bonding moments that Charlie and Reece can't join them for, he can't say he's mad about getting a chance to be out, just him and the boys.

And he remembered his ID this time, which is a plus. He can actually get a booth and throw back a few drinks now. Which Jake and Casey will not stop ribbing him about. 

But come on, guys. That was fully two weeks ago.

He figures that since he's been the butt of the group's jokes for two weeks, between Jake and Casey laughing about the ID, Charlie being the tallest fourteen year old he's ever seen, and Tom nearly pulling his pants down as well as his trousers, he has every right to sit down and make someone else go get him a beer. If that doesn't fly, he's fully prepared to yell, "Shortest quiff gets first round!" He's not entire sure if that applies to Barclay, though, since he hasn't really got a quiff at all, but he's not bothered. Either way, it's not him. He's quite proud of his hair.

And if it does make him taller than a grammar schoolboy, then all the better.

In the end, he doesn't need to yell it. Barclay just comes up with a beer and hands it over to James as he slides into the booth, right beside him, scooting close enough that their thighs touch under the tabletop.

James takes a sip, letting his head fall back against the firm, plastic lined cushion of the booth, before turning to smile at Barclay. He feels a buzz all over his body, which he thinks has more to do with the proximity of their thighs than the single sip of beer. At least, he hopes as much. Two beers is bad, but one sip is the worst lightweight anyone could possibly be.

He doesn't need to give Jake any more ammo, even if it is just friendly teasing.

"Thanks, mate."

Barclay smiles at him. He's handsome. "No problem."

And then he scoots even closer --

But it's just so there's enough room for Tom on the bench so that he isn't falling off the side. He tucks right under Barclay's arm instead, two of some sort of vodka drink in hand. He puts one in front of Barclay and tips some of the second into his own mouth.

James closes his eyes and schools his face into something less disappointed before anyone notices. He's not sure he's successful, but no one says anything about it, which is nice. He doesn't want to have to make up an excuse for looking that way when he sees how they smiles at each other.

Because they're sweet, Tom and Barclay. They really are. Always sitting next to each other in interviews, or standing next to each other, or anything they can do to be no more than a pinky touch away at all times. He should be, he _wants to be_ happy for them.

But the weird thing is, they're not really a "them." There's nothing, at least that they've come out and said, for the rest of the band to be happy about.

Unless they just think the rest of the band are stupid and somehow don't notice. But they all share a bedroom. They live in each other's pockets. It's not like Tom and Barclay are keeping "Tom and Barclay" a secret, either, except maybe from Charlie, but even then... 

It's not like they aren't going to notice that sometimes one of them will skive off and claim that they're going to take a shower, and the other will leave for some "tea," but they both come back with their hair wet.

And smelling a bit like peaches. Which is...not a bad smell. He wonders whose soap they use when they hastily try to cover their tracks when they're done.

James does his best not to imagine what they get up to in there.

Almost as though he could sense James' need for distraction, Chris comes over with a platter of shot glasses balanced precariously on one of his hands, the other holding some irish beer bottle by the neck. "Who wants tequila shots?"

James raises his hand before anyone else has time to finish hooting in celebration. The tequila burns going down, like he's swallowed a lit match. If he sang, maybe flames would come out of his mouth like a dragon.

Maybe that tequila hit him a bit harder than he was expecting. Which, naturally, means he should have another. And maybe chase the taste out of his mouth with some more beer.

A solid plan, if he's ever had one.

After all that, the warm feeling spreads through his body and settles, familiar, in his tummy. He can almost ignore the way Barclay's arm has moved from around Tom's shoulders to around his waist, and he's almost certainly stroking the skin underneath the hem of Tom's shirt. James can tell. He wishes he could feel it too.

Barclay's thigh is ablaze beside his, too. Everything in this club is warm. He's too warm.

"Budge up," James says abruptly, pushing at Barclay's shoulder. "It's too smushed in here."

"I've got an idea. Why don't we move to the dance floor? Do some of that edgy Halloween choreography," Tom says, or yells, rather, compensating for the thumping bass, which feels like it's gotten louder in the last ten seconds. Maybe that's just the sound of James' heartbeat in his ears.

"I'm good here, ta," Chris says, lifting his beer and taking a swig. Casey nods and does the same. Jake considers the offer, and decides he might come out and try to pull once he's finished his first drink and loosened up a bit.

There's no question that Barclay is going to go, if Tom is the one suggesting, so he's already up on his feet. So James is a bit thrown when Barclay offers his hand out to James and says, "You coming?"

"Er." James doesn't take the hand. He isn't so drunk that he needs help standing, and he doesn't want TomAndBarclay to think so. They aren't that much older than he is; god. "Yeah, I could. How's my hair look?"

"It looks excellent, and definitely Taller Than Charlie." Tom smiles, pleased with his joke, and James smiles a bit too. It's contagious, he thinks. "Now come on, let's go!"

Barclay grins, for no apparent reason. "Did somebody call a contractor? Because I heard there are dance floors that need tearing up, and I plan to make sure they get properly torn."

Tom groans, but it's a fond groan, and it ends with a flirty shoulder shove as James is scooching out of the booth and standing up, smoothing out his pants. "That's the worst one yet, B."

It is a bad one, but that seems to be their game... they're forever trying to one-up each other with bad puns.

(In their honor, James stubbornly refuses to think about all of the innuendo that could be made about them upping each other.)

Once they're out on the dance floor, though, they're easier to ignore for a bit as James is surrounded by beautiful girls. _I've seen you on X Factor, haven't I? You're the one with the big voice! Oh my god, I loved 'Hey Jude,' that's my favorite song!_.

One of the girls taps him on the shoulder and asks him if he'd like to dance with her. If she happens to be petite with a pixie cut styled up in a mini quiff like Tom's, well, he's not going to say anything about it. She's quite pretty, Tom aside.

Tom's pretty too, but this girl is definitely worth a dance.

It's easy, then, to let the fire of the tequila take over and push the stress of the week from his shoulders. The club is so loud that he doesn't even have to talk, much less sing, and he wraps himself around skin and lace where her crop top cuts away from her waist.

She presses herself closer, grinding into him and reaching up to run her fingers through what little hair she has. James' hands move down her waist and latch on to her hips. It feels so good after a day of boy band dancing to just let loose and feel it. He's glad they're the type of boy band who fully embraces dancing on stage, but he likes to just feel the music and go with it every once and a while.

The crowd parts.

Tom and Barclay are dancing together, each with a beer in one hand to look casual but their legs slotted together close and dirty. Tom is so much smaller than Barclay that he has to look up into his face, and Barclay must make another terrible pun because Tom's face breaks into a scrunch-nosed laugh.

Barclay slides one big hand over the small of Tom's back and hauls him closer.

It's just the tequila that hurts James' stomach.

Just the tequila, and not the way he can see a flush on their cheeks, something of a glow from the thin layer of just enough sweat. Not the way he's wondering if maybe dancing like this, filthy in front of this many strangers, is getting them a little hard.

He closes his eyes, tries to focus on this girl he's with. She's got a nice bum. Really nice, actually. And she has rhythm, which is wonderful.

But.

When she leans up to whisper in his ear, _can you bring people back to that big mansion you're living in?_ he says, "No."

It isn't a lie. The truth is that he'd be able to go back to hers if he wanted. He just doesn't want.

The sorry he offers up afterwards feels strained, and as the song ends she kisses his cheek and says, "Thanks for the dance, anyway."

And then she's gone. And he can't look away from Tom and Barclay, pressed even closer than the last time he looked, if that's even possible.

A sweaty arm lands around James' neck and then a prickly mouth kisses his cheek. It's very wet.

"Hi, Casey."

"Hey, bruv. Ready to get 'ome? Jake's sloshed and I need help carrying him."

"'Course he is. Here, you go tell Steak and Potatoes over there that we're headed out, and I'll go over to Chris and figure out a game plan for Jake." Anything to get him off the dance floor. He's desperate at this point.

He makes his way over, and Jake's leaning up against Chris' side, looking like he's one stumble away from falling over. James runs to his aid, slipping Jake's other arm over his shoulder to stabilize him. The last thing they need is another valid reason for people to slag off Jake, so James has to do his best to make him not look too pissed.

"Cheers, JG," says Chris. He's always so bleeding cheerful. "That bird was right fit. You ain't going to hers? Why? You feeling ill, too?"

"Yeah, not so sure it's from drinking, though," which is true, sort of. "Think I might try to sleep it off in one of the empty rooms or something. Wouldn't want the rest of you to get sick on account of me."

"Ah, yeah." Chris smiles. "A good sleep'll fix you right up." Jake groans in what might be an agreement.

They make their way outside, with the other three following soon after, Tom and Barclay trying very not to look like they're as close as they are. They're not expecting paps, not this early in their not-quite career, but it never hurts to be careful. They've all learned that well enough by now.

James, Casey, and Chris manage to get Jake into a taxi, but Jake won't let go of James' shirt and he's mumbling something pathetic and needy like he's minutes away from rubbing his cheek on James like a kitten, so that's the taxi James picks, too. Chris jumps in on Jake's other side. Casey goes with Tom and Barclay, but he gives James a little salute before the doors close.

Their cab gets stuck at a few lights that the other one managed to squeeze by, but James guesses the others haven't been at the house for more than ten minutes or so. He has to help Chris carry Jake up the stairs, and they open the door to their room to find Casey stripped down to his pants and asleep already. They drop Jake into the closest empty bed, not much caring whose it is.

"Hey, James. Feel better, eh?" Chris pats him on the shoulder, dismisses him with a yawn and a thousand watt smile.

Reece rolls over, looks right at them, and mutters, "I have the biggest cock in England." Then his eyes close again and he's dead to the world.

James will never get used to how lairy Reece gets when he's asleep. Dead obnoxious for such a lovely guy during waking hours.

"Think that's my cue to leave. See you in the morning, Chris. Jake, here's hoping you wake up in one piece." James salutes, and then backs out of their bedroom.

He's not entirely sure what he's trying to accomplish here. He has no plans to sleep alone in one of the extra rooms, but he can't go back in there and face Chris's questions about why he really didn't go home with that girl, and he's not sure he knows the answer himself, let alone what to tell other people.

Not everyone in the house is asleep. James wanders into the bathroom for a quick shower to let his hair relax, and then lets Betsy put some goop on his face that's supposed to make his pores tighter. She says this is a good thing. Andrea is down in the living room attempting to understand _The Chase_ , and James joins in for that until the questions get too difficult and they both give it up.

He could, technically, go sleep in Jake Quickenden's abandoned bed. Somehow James suspects that Ben and Jack might be keeping it as a shrine for a few days longer, though, and Paul whinges _a lot_ , so he doesn't.

At this point, he's pretty sure he's exhausted all his social resources, and that everyone else in the house is asleep now. He wouldn't blame them if they were; it was a long day for everyone. Plus, having to carry Jake sobered him up enough that he just feels a comfortable buzz in his head. Really, not much of anything, but it still feels good.

Maybe he'll check Overload's old room and see if he can kip in there. Even though he's not actually ill, maybe this whole separate room thing is a good idea. He's kind of excited that he won't have to be woken up by any one of the other boys in the room tripping over the clothes that are all over the floor.

He hasn't really ever been in this room. It's not like he'd ever been close to anyone in Overload -- they weren't around long enough for friendship, and besides, back then, all of James' time was consumed with getting to know his own band. 

He knows them well enough now to recognize the soft, breathy sounds through the door as Barclay.

He bites his bottom lip, pressing his ear to the door and hearing the muffled but unmistakably wet sounds of a snog. And it's not like the girl at the club that he turned down.

This time, he wants.

James chews at the inside of his cheek for a minute.

Then he closes his eyes.

Opens the door.

Stumbles through it -- just enough to look like an accident. They'll probably know that it wasn't, but this way, he has some plausible deniability. And dignity.

He sizes up what he can see: both of their shirts on the floor, Barclay's zipper undone and his pants slung low on his hips, and Tom suckling on his neck just enough to not bruise. Barclay's eyes open at the sound of the door, but his head moves far too languidly to have been taken by surprise. They can't have been expecting him?

"Oh look, Tom. It's James. Hi James. We're just having a cuddle. A mostly naked cuddle that is going to hopefully get more naked."

"I could. Um." James starts to back away from them, his cheeks heating up.

Tom's eyes are _so green_ when he looks at James over the curve of Barclay's shoulder. Are they always green? James could have sworn they were brown when he first met Tom.

"You could," Tom agrees. His mouth looks very red. "Or you could take a few steps this way and join us. You look like you need a good cuddle."

"Are you. Did you want that?" James wonders if he looks as hopeful as he feels. He takes a tentative step closer, and find that Tom is flashing an encouraging smile in his direction.

"Wouldn't have asked if we didn't." Barclay says 'we' so easily that James almost stops again.

But he doesn't.

"Besides," Tom says, "I've already got your pants off you once."

"And you'd have gotten me fully naked, too, if it weren't for those meddling cameras." James eases into this. This, he knows, the joking and the teasing. It's light, just enough that it doesn't throw off the mood he's sure they've been cultivating since their taxi got back to the house. This, he can do.

"Good thing there are none of those around right now. I wouldn't mind finishing what I started."

James pads closer to the bed, pushing his hair off his face. Without the quiff, it's so long it covers his eyes and he can't really see -- and he very, very much wants to see what's in front of him right now.

Sex looks good on Tom. It looks good on most people, might've even looked good at the girl he danced with, but Tom...wow. Something about his face just seems brighter as he reaches an arm out to pull James closer.

It's not like James hasn't already seen either of them naked -- they live in the same bedroom -- but it affected him even when it wasn't like this, going to be like this. No one's even naked _yet_ but the promise is enough to bring the fire back roaring up inside him.

"'S just us, Graham. No need to be nervous," Barclay says, soft as anything. He brings a hand to James' cheek, stroking a thumb along his cheekbone.

After the thigh pressed tight to his, the hand reached out to lead him to the dance floor, and now this hand on his cheek, charged with energy but gentle in that way Barclay has about him, it only seems natural at this point to lean in and kiss Barclay first.

It's a _good_ kiss. He doesn't taste like vodka anymore--Tom's kissed it from his mouth and all that's left behind is wet red wanting, soft tongue and rough stubble. James keeps up with the kiss until Barclay makes a little impatient noise into his mouth and he has to pull back to find that Tom's shimmied down Barclay's legs and pulled the black jeans the rest of the way off.

"Might need to catch up," James says, feeling a bit too clothed. There's a little wet patch on Barclay's pants, and James is not proud of the whimper he makes when he sees the outline of Barclay's cock straining against the fabric. He tries to mask the noise of desperation by making a show of removing his own shirt, but seeing the way his body, the body they've seen time and time again, is received by the other two, with shining eyes and red, bitten lips.

James doesn't think he's anything special in that arena. Just another skinny eighteen-year-old kid in Stereo Kicks, isn't he?

"C'mere then. I want a turn," Tom says, getting up on his knees from where he is further down the bed. His hair is tousled, mussed from Barclay's big hands, and he's got a flush across his chest. He looks good pink.

"Sharing, is caring, I guess?" James knees up on the bed to get closer to Tom, pressing their foreheads together and breathing into his mouth for a moment before he connects their lips.

The mattress jostles as Barclay moves to give them a little more room, and then his arms wrap around James from behind to start undoing the fly of his jeans even as Tom touches a palm to James' jaw to hold him just right to keep being kissed.

They kiss just the same way. It makes sense. It works. They work. And they want James.

This time when James has to stop kissing, it's because Barclay's trying to get his jeans down his legs and he has to balance his hands on Tom's shoulders while he moves his knees or they'll all fall out of bed like dominoes.

Tom laughs, tongue caught between his teeth like an inside joke. "There's those pants. I remember those pants."

"You shouldn't," James says, indignant. "I've changed them since _last week_."

"And we're very proud of you for it." Tom smirks, and James would try to laugh, he really would. But Barclay's hand is pressing down on James' dick, rubbing him through the outside of his pants, and James can only really manage a choked-off groan because it feels so good.

Tom's little smile turns surprisingly dirty and he thumbs at one of James' nipples. "What d'you want to happen tonight, James?"

James licks his lips, a quiet moan sitting in the air between them.

His eyes can't rest anywhere. He wants so much, but he's got no idea where to start. He's wanted this--or something like it, he could never imagine that he'd get one or the other, let alone both--since he met the rest of the band. But he's never done anything about it before. About wanting boys the way he's been with girls. He says as much, trying not to feel embarrassed.

Barclay just hauls James back against him in a big hug and makes comforting noises at him. "That's fine, love, that's great. Whatever you want."

"And nothing more," adds Tom. He knee-walks up the mattress until he can hug around them, too, and he's so short that his hair tickles James' nose.

"I want to. Um. Like, in my mouth?" He says, and it's not like he doesn't know the word for it. He's had plenty of blowjobs before. But something about the way his mouth is watering at the recent memory of Barclay's hard cock in his pants makes remembering any words a bit rough.

"You want to blow him?" Tom offers gently, not trying to push. He pulls away from the hug just enough to rest a hand on James' cheek.

"I think so, yeah," James says, and his throat feels dry. "I don't know--how to do it well or anything, but--I just really want to try."

"You'll get the hang of it." Tom smiles, his eyes crinkling. He looks almost _proud_. "And I can help you out, if you like."

"Jesus," Barclay groans from behind the two of them. They're close enough that James can feel Barclay's dick twitch against his arse, which. Hm. That's new.

"I think that's a good idea," James says, very seriously, although his eyes twinkle at Tom. He doesn't even know how Tom _can_ help him, but it's clearly something that Barclay wants and it does sound... interesting. James' own dick isn't opposed at all.

Barclay unwraps his arms from James' torso, moving back towards the headboard. He's leaning up against it, almost sitting up, and James watches Tom's eyes when Barclay reaches to take off his pants. His lids are heavy, his gaze hungry, pupils so large there's no iris to be seen.

James waits until Tom bites his lip before he turns his head to look, too.

"Oh," he whispers.

It's a lovely dick, really. He's seen it before, but that was after a shower, when Casey yelled for Charlie to shield his eyes before he tugged Barclay's towel down. It was nice, then, but now it's something else entirely. It's flushed, a deep pink color, and shiny at the tip. It leans a bit to the left where it rests up against his stomach, and James really wants to lick it.

Barclay smirks like he knows it, too, and pumps his hand down the length just once to soothe himself. "Come on up, if you like, then."

Tom touches James' back and soothes him, too, just a little pet of reassurance. "It's not difficult. Barcs is easy."

James crawls up closer to Barclay, eager. Ready. He fills the time it takes for Tom to come up next to the other side of Barclay's hips by pressing his lips to Barclay's collarbone, his mouth open. The kiss is just wet enough that his bottom lip still sticks to the smooth skin under it as James lifts his head again.

Barclay's eyes are soft as he smiles down at James, cups the back of his head in one hand. He kisses James once, and neither of them shut their eyes. Instead, James reaches out to touch the first dick that isn't his own.

It's weird how different it is. The angle, for one, but also... everything. His hand knows how he'd feel if it were him, but it's not, and that's strange, too, to get that sensation in his fingers and feel no jolt of his own. Barclay's thicker than he is, too, and so hard he feels fragile.

The drag is a bit dry, but it seems like Barclay doesn't mind all that much. Tom watches James' hand, maybe cataloguing the differences in their strokes, how they grasp it, the way they set a rhythm.

James likes it, he thinks. Being watched. Being appraised, and approved of.

Tom wraps his fingers around James' wrist, pulling James' hand up to his mouth and running his tongue from the base of his palm all the way to the tips of his fingers. He's looking James in the eye the whole time, and James shivers with arousal.

"That should help some," he says, letting James' hand fall back to where it was.

Barclay's eyes finally fall shut when James drags his hand this time, and James feels a hot flash of pride in his chest. He did that. He's doing this.

Then Tom's breath is warm against James' fingers and that same soft tongue touches between two knuckles as Tom licks out over Barclay's cock at the same moment that James' hand moves.

Oh. Oh, that's nice. The noise Barclay makes are quiet, but consistent, a nice reminder that he really wants this. Wants them.

"How d'you feel about joining him? Hm?" Barclay's eyes open slow, syrupy. He brings a crooked knuckle up to James' chin, his lips parting when James' feels Tom's tongue circling the head, wet against his fingers.

James licks his lip. "Soz if I bite you."

"You won't." Such faith.

Tom smiles at James once they're level. Everything smells thickly of sex from here.

"Kiss me," Tom says, his long-fingered hand wrapped around the base of Barclay's cock. "It's all it is. Just kiss me around this."

He can do that.

He moves in for the kiss, just above where they actually need to be, letting his tongue run along Tom's lower lip.

It's still a shock when Tom guides their kiss lower and a tang of salt hits James' tongue. 

Otherwise, it just tastes like skin. Feels like skin. He doesn't know what he was expecting.

They move lower and lower along his length, until he's so thick that their lips aren't really touching anymore. It feels a bit alien, now that he can't feel Tom's mouth, but he just keeps kissing, occasionally licking out to press his flat tongue to the side.

Barclay groans _that's pretty, lads_ and James has to snuffle a wild laugh into the side of Barclay's hip. This is so surreal.

He's still smiling as he looks up, and Barclay chuckles a light laugh in his direction. He's never really laughed during sex before, but seeing the way Barclay laughs and smiles back sets off something in his chest, makes his heart pound a bit faster.

Tom is still kissing steadfastly toward the base as James decides to go for it. He licks his way up the side, opening his mouth as wide as he can and only putting the smallest amount of the tip in his mouth. Even though Barclay has faith, he's still not sure what to do with his teeth if he takes in any more.

"That's it," Tom encourages, and he kisses James' cheek. That's enough that James tries sliding down a bit more. He's sure it's not impressive, but it's probably better than no blowjob at all.

James moves his tongue around as he slides back off, kisses the tip before going in again. He gets a hand on Barclay's stomach, and he can feel the muscles there clench when he moans. It's so hot, James can't help but moaning himself, and apparently that was the right thing to do, because Barclay gets a hand in his hair and punches out an, " _Oh_ , that's good."

Tom's lips are chapped but still soft when they meet James' this time and then there are noses and chins bumping when Tom leans down to mouth at Barclay's balls and then --

"Stop, wait, I still want to... just give me a minute."

James and Tom move up more on their knees to kiss a bit, giving Barclay some time to pull it together.

"Still want to what?" He's pretty sure he knows what comes next, but he kind of wants to hear them say it.

Tom and Barclay exchange a look -- Barclay's eyes raise and lower once, mouth pulled into a purse, and Tom smiles, shoulder up. 

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Um. I'm...not really sure? But I don't. Um. I don't want to stop." He looks down, expecting that they might look a bit disappointed, but when he looks up, it's the same gentle expression that Barclay's had on all night.

"That's alright, that's totally fine. Maybe next time." James feels his cheeks warm from the idea of a next time. "For now, he can fuck me and you can see how you feel about it?"

James shivers. "D'you want me to, you know. Go? Or anything? If you're gonna..."

"Only if you'd rather go." At this, and not James' unsure refusal to be fucked, Tom looks a bit disappointed. James wasn't expecting that at all. "I know I'd still like to blow you, if you're up for that."

"Always!" (It's the honest answer.)

Tom chuckles quietly, looking pleased now that he knows James plays to stick around.

"Hey, before we get started, can you reach down and see if you can find my trousers on the floor? I think I've got a condom in my pocket." James leans over, reaching around blindly until he finds what he's looking for, as well as another little packet, about the same size, that he grabs because it seems like they probably go together.

"Ta, love. That's always lucky." Tom kisses James' nose when he takes the packets, and it's not as strange as it probably should be.

Barclay rumples James' hair as they all shift around on the mattress again -- or rather Tom and Barclay do, because James isn't quite sure yet what's happening. Is he getting blown? His dick is very interested in that. Is Tom getting fucked? His dick is confusingly interested in that, he thinks.

"Here, just lie back." Tom uses a gentle hand low on James' back to guide him to where Barclay just was, and he lies there, giving himself just enough of an angle that he can watch what they get up to. He can't act like he's never been curious, if they get up to this sort of thing in their showers or if this only happened before, when they weren't living in a house with too many eyes and ears.

The bed is bleeding with warmth, and it only gets hotter when Tom props himself up on hands and knees, face just level with James' waist. Behind him, Barclay kisses his way down Tom's spine before ripping open the little packet.

He can't see exactly what Barclay's hands are doing, but he can see Tom's lips open and he can hear a moan tumble out among the wet, muffled sounds behind Tom.

"What does it feel like?" James says, soft enough that it may have been a whisper.

Tom's brows draw together. "Good. Odd at first, I can't lie. I wouldn't do it if it wasn't nice."

"Another okay?" Barclay says, his free hand running up and down Tom's back, fingers spread wide.

"Mm, please." James watches Tom's face as he tries to adjust to another finger inside of him, a grunt and an eyebrow furrow, followed by a soft acceptance.

"I thought he was gonna -- like, is that what fucking is? For you? I thought it was more..." James makes an obscene gesture with his own fingers, and Tom laughs breathlessly.

"All in good time, love. We're working up to it. He just has to--Oh! yep, right there--um, has to get me ready. He hasn't got the smallest cock, as you know."

"Oh." That makes it seem less scary, less... impossible. "And then it doesn't hurt?"

"Less of stretch, if you take time to prep it." Tom grunts, and James wonders exactly how many fingers he's going to use before they actually, well. Do it.

"Doesn't, like, not hurt at all, but it feels better a lot quicker," Barclay adds. "You good, or would you like more?"

"'M good. Just want your cock, B. Please."

Barclay kisses Tom's shoulder, and then it's all happening all at once, right in front of James. He can't help but to weave his fingers through Tom's and clutch on tight even though he isn't the one getting a cock put in him.

Tom isn't quiet about it. He's not as loud as he could be, still very aware that they're in the house and very much not alone, but he keeps making these breathy sounds like it feels too good not to. James wonders if it'll feel that good the first time he does it or if he'll have to work up to that.

Once Barclay's apparently all in, Tom looks back at James with blown-black eyes rimmed in green and he licks his lips. "Now it's your turn."

Tom isn't shy about how far he can slurp down on James' cock, not like James had been.

Every thrust from Barclay pushes Tom further on James' cock, and it's like it's never too much for him. He just opens his throat and keeps on going, getting as much as he can wet so his hand can slide easily up and down what his mouth isn't on at the moment. He closes his eyes, afraid he'll come in a second if he looks at how much Tom is enjoying being filled at both ends.

Instead he looks at the dark ceiling and he can't help muttering _oh my god, oh my god_ over and over until finally Barclay's laughing at him from the other side of the bed.

"Relax, Graham," he says through the grunt of a particularly hard thrust. "It's okay."

He's feeling so close to the edge, like one expert move of his tongue could push him over, and then the wet heat around him is gone, and James has to look down and see what's happened. He's met with Barclay leaning over Tom's back, his hand around Tom's cock as he whispers in his ear, "Don't stop now, babe, he's close. He's so close. Want James to come before I let you."

Tom pulls back just long enough to wet two fingers with his slippery spit and then he's back again, tongue hot and throat tight around James' cock.

James feels a wet finger tracing between his arse cheeks, just pressing firmly around his hole until the tip of his finger slides in. That, plus the feeling of Tom's throat vibrating as he moans deep around James, has James shooting off into Tom's mouth. He comes so hard it feels like his eyes literally roll back into his head.

Barclay's laughing again when James comes down to earth. "Yeah, yeah, we know you're good at hitting those notes; don't need to show off now."

"Fuck... you," James huffs, too blissed out to care.

"If you'd like, next time, you can fuck me. I'd be up for it."

James says _oh my god_ one more time. This time, Tom and Barclay both laugh, but he doesn't even care. 

Next time seems like an amazing promise.


End file.
